5 years later.

GLOBAL DEFENSE AGENCYDIRECTORATE: Cecil StedmanCLEARANCE LEVEL: 8-DELTAFILE DESIGNATION: KENT, CLARK (ALIAS: SUPERBOY → SUPERMAN)DOCUMENT TYPE: LONGITUDINAL FIELD ASSESSMENT REPORTTIMEFRAME COVERED: (INITIAL EMERGENCE → CURRENT STATUS)

I’ve dealt with a lot of variables in this job.

Alien invasions. Government overreach. Supervillains with delusions of godhood and the attention span of toddlers. Most of the time, the real problem isn’t power—it’s predictability.

This one is different.

Clark Kent is both the most reassuring and the most concerning asset I’ve ever had on this planet.

And he’s a kid.

—————————

SECTION 1: INITIAL CONTACT AND EMERGENCE (YEAR 0)

First recorded public incident occurred in a rural sector of northern Maryland. Local reports described a “flying boy” lifting a tractor to free a trapped farmhand. Witness statements were inconsistent—as expected. Everything from “angel” to “government experiment.”

By that point, we already had a working theory.

We investigated anyway.

Satellite imaging confirmed brief bursts of anomalous movement—subsonic at the time, but far beyond human capability. Strength estimates placed him in early-stage, low-tier metahuman classification.

That estimate didn’t age well.

From the beginning, the subject demonstrated consistent behavioral patterns: intervention in localized emergencies, prioritization of civilian safety, minimal force application, and zero fatalities.

No theatrics. No escalation. No real attempt at secrecy beyond surface-level concealment.

He called himself Superboy.

I wish I was kidding.

Homemade suit. Black shirt. Red “S” stitched slightly off-center. Fabric analysis traced origin to mass-produced textiles—nothing enhanced, nothing reinforced.

Just a kid in a shirt trying to help people.

Initial observed power set included:

Enhanced strength (lifting capacity exceeding 5 tons within first year)

Flight (estimated Mach 2–3 during early development)

Invulnerability (small arms fire ineffective; blunt force negligible)

Accelerated perception and reaction time

Early weaknesses:

No formal combat training

Poor force calibration

Emotion-driven decision-making under stress

Limited situational awareness in multi-threat environments

He still won every engagement.

A few years into active intervention, the subject encountered organized supervillain resistance.

Primary case: engagement with the Lizard League.

Results:

Multiple combatants neutralized with minimal effort

Direct engagement with Komodo Dragon

This marked the first recorded instance of meaningful resistance.

Komodo Dragon was able to briefly match Clark’s physical output.

That was enough.

Clark escalated—not recklessly, but instinctively.

Outcome:

Bilateral arm fractures (Komodo Dragon)

Immediate disengagement by subject

Verbal apology issued mid-conflict

He didn’t look angry.

He looked… shaken.

Not by the fight.

By what he’d done.

That’s when it became clear we weren’t dealing with a standard power-type.

The kid has a conscience.

Too much of one.

Time usually fixes that.

…Usually.

—————————

SECTION 2: OMNI-MAN INTERVENTION

Shortly after this incident, Omni-Man inserted himself into Clark’s development.

That alone raised flags.

Omni-Man has never shown interest in mentorship. Not formally. Not informally. Not once.

We monitored initial interactions closely.

Tone: instructional, controlled, borderline paternal.

Clark responded immediately—and positively.

Training parameters included:

Aerial maneuvering optimization

Combat fundamentals (grappling, leverage, strike efficiency)

Tactical awareness (target prioritization, environmental use)

Controlled force application

Observed results over six months:

~40% increase in combat efficiency

~80% increase in measurable strength output

Significant reduction in collateral damage

Improved reaction timing in multi-vector threat scenarios

—————————-

SECTION 3: POWER EVOLUTION – HEAT VISION

Three years into active development, at the age of 15, the subject exhibited a new ability.

First manifestation occurred during a high-stress engagement with an enhanced adversary (see classified file: REDACTED).

Trigger: emotional spike.

Result: uncontrolled thermal discharge from ocular region.

In simpler terms—he burned through the target.

Instantly.

Secondary damage included structural compromise of the surrounding area. No civilian casualties.

Subject reaction:

Disorientation.

Followed by fear.

Clark avoided using the ability in subsequent engagements. We observed deliberate behavioral shifts—hesitation in escalation, withdrawal from scenarios likely to trigger the response.

He didn’t trust the power.

That didn’t last.

Training protocols—again, likely under Omni-Man’s influence—shifted from suppression to control.

Progression timeline:

Initial instability

Controlled bursts

Precision targeting

Variable intensity output

Current assessment:

Highly accurate

Scalable output

Still emotionally influenced, but no longer volatile

He learned to use it.

More importantly, he learned when to use it.

————————-

SECTION 4: IDENTITY SHIFT

“Superboy” stopped fitting when he was already 6 and a half feet tall.

The transition wasn’t announced.

No press statement. No formal rebranding campaign.

It just… changed.

First recorded use of “Superman” came from a rescue operation.

The name stuck.

Public perception shifted with it.

He’s currently one of the most popular heroes in the world.

———————————

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

This is where things stop being clean.

Clark Kent is fundamentally good.

Not performative. Not conditional. Not situational.

Consistent.

He helps because he believes it’s the right thing to do.

He holds back because he’s afraid of hurting others if he can help it.

He’s a good kid, with a good heart, but too much conscious… is bad on this line of work.

——————————

COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS – OMNI-MAN

Let’s address the obvious comparison.

Clark Kent—Superman—versus Omni-Man.

Current assessment:

Raw Strength:

Comparable potential

Omni-Man demonstrates higher applied force efficiency

Speed:

Omni-Man superior in sustained flight

Clark exhibits burst acceleration that may exceed Omni-Man in short intervals

Durability:

Both effectively invulnerable under known conditions

Preliminary data suggests Clark may possess a higher upper threshold.

Combat Experience:

Decisive advantage: Omni-Man

Clark improving at an accelerated rate

Tactical Mindset:

Omni-Man: strategic, ruthless, mission-oriented

Clark: reactive, adaptive, restraint-focused

———————————-

CONCLUSION

If they fought today?

Omni-Man wins.

Not easily. Not cleanly.

But he wins.

If they fought in five years?

I’d bet on the kid.

Superman POV

“—I told you to account for variables!”

“I did account for variables! He was supposed to be in Italy!”

“Oh please, if you were the original you would’ve known better!”

Watching the Mauler Twins argue was always funny to some degree.

I tighten my grip midair, wind rushing past my ears as I angle down toward the South Lawn of the White House, already half torn apart. Smoke curls into the sky. Helicopters circle at a distance, keeping out of range.

Below me, the two identical blue-skinned giants were throwing chunks of federal architecture at the Guardians of the Globe.

And arguing while they do it.

“My favorite smurfs,” I chuckled, “How you guys been?”

One of them rips a marble column straight out of the ground and hurls it like a javelin.

The other pauses mid-fight.

“…You realize that was load-bearing, right?”

“Shut up and fight!”

The column is about to hit a group of Secret Service agents scrambling behind an overturned vehicle.

So, I move.

And as I do so, the world compresses, air snapping around me as I dive.

One second I’m above the lawn.

Next second—

I’m there.

I catch the column with one hand, before I set it down carefully, turning to the agents.

“You guys good?”

They stare at me.

One of them nods, a little too fast.

“…Yes, sir.”

“Great,” I say, flashing what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Maybe—uh—keep your heads down? Big blue guys throwing stuff? Not ideal.”

I turn—and a fist the size of a cinderblock slams into my face.

My head tilts.

That’s about it.

I slowly turn back.

“…Okay,” I say. “Rude,”

The Mauler who hit me frowns.

“…Did you at least feel that?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Little bit.”

Behind him, the other one lands with a heavy thud.

“…That’s not ideal,” he mutters.

“It isn’t,” I agree, moving through them, grabbing each by the wrist before they can react.

Their eyes widen—

Just slightly.

I lift.

Both of them come off the ground like it’s nothing.

“Hey,” I say. “Quick question—do you guys ever stop arguing?”

They both answer at the same time.

“No.”

“Never.”

“Yeah, figured.”

I bring them down.

Hard.

The ground caves in under the impact, a clean crater forming as both of them slam into it.

Shockwave rolls outward, kicking up dust and debris.

I let go.

They stay down for about half a second.

Then—

“…Ow,” one says.

“That was excessive,” the other adds.

They push themselves up.

Not hurt.

Just annoyed.

“…You’re stronger than the reports suggested,” one mutters.

“We didn’t account for this,” the other agrees.

I glance past them.

Hovering above the battlefield—

Immortal.

Arms crossed.

Watching.

There’s a nod.

I nod back.

He drops down beside me.

“Where’s your mentor?” he asks.

I roll my shoulders, glancing up at the sky.

“You know how he is,” I say. “Loves arriving fashionably late.”

A laugh cuts in from the side—

War Woman, already mid-swing as she cracks one of the Maulers across the jaw.

“Sounds about right,” she says.

A surge of water whips around the second twin’s legs, tightening like a vice—

Aquarus.

“Have you considered joining us, Superman?” he asks, calm even now. “You would make a strong addition to the Guardians.”

I step forward again.

The Maulers break free of the water almost immediately.

They come at me together.

I meet them head-on.

One punch.

I catch it.

The other swings—

I stop that one too.

Both of their arms locked in my grip.

“…I’ve thought about it,” I say. I really did, the Guardians were a team, and that was a nice, and they also got a salary, which didn’t sound bad, but also sounds a bit unheroic.

Would Superman take a paycheck for saving the world?

Hm…

Well, I’m Superman, and I would take a check.

Pushing through my capitalistic thoughts, I pull them forward—

Then slam their heads together.

The crack echoes across the lawn.

They drop.

I dust my hands off lightly.

“But you know Cecil,” I add. “Thinks I’m too young, besides I’m technically part of teen team, I’m like a member adjacent.”

Behind me—

Immortal laughs.

A short, sharp sound.

“Cecil knows nothing,” he says. “You are a warrior forged through countless battles, you have bleed with us.”

Green Ghost stops on her track, “Has he? I was under the impression he didn’t bleed.”

I glance back.

“It’s an expression,” Martian Man replies.

“Does he even have blood?” Red Rush asks, tilting head before dashing to move more people out of harms way.

“…I mean, I think I do, never had any bloodwork done,” I say.

I was pretty sure Kryptonians had blood, I just hand’t had the chance to prove it, seeing all my fights I’m usually the strongest one, by a wide margin.

A piece of the outer structure groans.

I turn just in time to see part of it start to collapse.

Through the walls I can see, around ten people. Trapped.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

Inside—

Dust fills the air. Voices overlap. Panic.

A beam has come down across part of the room, trapping a group of staffers.

I land beside it.

“Hey,” I say, raising a hand. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

They freeze for half a second.

Then one of them nods.

I crouch, sliding my hands under the beam.

“Move when I lift,” I say. “Don’t wait.”

I lift.

The beam rises easily.

They scramble out.

One stumbles—I catch him with my foot before he hits the ground, nudging him forward.

“Go,” I say.

The last one clears.

I step back—

The structure collapses behind me.

I turn and head back outside.

The fight hasn’t slowed down.

War Woman is pressing one of the Maulers back with heavy, deliberate strikes.

Aquarus is trying to keep the other contained.

It might felt like a bit of an overkill from an outside perspective to have everyone fighting them, but while they weren’t the strongest villains around in terms of physical prowess, they were one of the most intelligent villains.

I could stop them alone if their threat was only physical, but it usually had another layer, like a virus they plan to unleash, or a bomb that if moved even the slightest can destroy all of New York.

So yeah, they were one of the most tricky villains around.

I hover for a second—

Then drop back in.

One of the Maulers sees me coming.

“…There he is,” he says.

“The second strongest,” the other adds.

I pause.

“…Second?”

They both jerk a thumb toward Immortal.

“Yes, you overpowered imbecile, we prepared for him,” one says.

“Not for you,” the other finishes.

There’s a brief silence.

I glance at Immortal.

He doesn’t say anything.

But I can feel it.

Yeah.

That one landed right on his immortal ego.

I look back at the Maulers.

“Okay,” I say. “That feels like it’s gonna start something.”

They charge me.

I don’t move.

The first one swings.

His fist hits my chest.

Stops.

He blinks.

“…Right,” he says.

“Are you guys sure you are geniuses?” I asked, smiling.

“You could at least pretend it hurts a bit,”

I grab him by the arm.

Swing him sideways—

Into his brother.

Both of them go flying.

They hit the ground, roll, and push themselves back up again.

“…We need to recalibrate,” one mutters.

“You need to recalibrate,” the other snaps.

“Take this, Superman!” the twins say, pulling out a gun from the ground, blasting me. The blast pushes me back, but otherwise does nothing.

“Huh… well, that was a waste of resources, and time, as expected of the work of a clone,” one of them says.

“Stop blaming me for your poor craftsmanship!” one barked, crab-walking sideways.

The other bared his teeth. “Says the slugabed who mixed the cytoplasmic substrate in backwards—”

“I was following the schematic!”

“You always follow the schematic!”

“You always ignore the schematic—“

“I MADE THE SCHEMATIC—“

I could have just let them keep going, but debris was raining onto the crowd in chunks, each bit of destruction punctuated by a fresh round of sibling rage. A black SUV sailed overhead, trailing strips of seatbelt, and landed with a crunch on the Mauler twins themselves. Both grunted and heaved it off together, grumbling about metallurgy.

I landed beside them, arms folded. “Hey. You two ever try counseling?”

Both pairs of eyes swivel up to me.

“We tried group therapy,” said the left twin.

“Total waste of time,” said the right.

“The therapist quit.”

“She said her insurance didn’t cover ‘identical twin supervillain identity crises’ or ‘homicidal urges toward your literal other half.’ She actually wrote ‘not a covered diagnosis’ on our paperwork and backed out of the room.”

“In fairness, it was probably an HMO,” I offered.

They both nodded, solemnly.

“Look,” said lefty, “this is a waste of all our time. We can’t beat him or Omniman, if it was only Immortal yes, but this is a bit too much for our plate—“

Immortal frowns insulted at the comment.

He landed next to me, hands on his hips, jawline out to here, every inch the action figure god in a fitted blue bodysuit.

“Excuse me?” Immortal rumbled.

The Maulers shared an annoyed look—like when you’re talking with your sibling and a substitute teacher interrupts to enforce a rule nobody cares about.

“You’re strong,” said the left one, “but not, like—” “Not up there, you know? On the Power Index.” “It’s not a personal slight. Statistically, you plateaued around—”

Immortal braced, eyes gone crimson. “I will flatten you both into blue Jell-O.”

“Don’t fall for the taunts,” I held up a hand, stepping between them. “Hang on. They’re stalling.”

Right twin’s mouth twitched.

Immortal turned on me. “So what?” he growled. “They’re stalling. For…?”

And, right on cue, the Secret Service radio spluttered behind me.

“All teams, possible device—repeat, possible device—”

Mauler number two—was it the right or the left?—held up a tiny bronze basketball the size of a tangerine, wires poking out from beneath the dimples. He winked at me, then crunched it like a walnut between his teeth.

A sound, so shrill and piercing the world ice-picked right through my eardrums, shattered the air. Not a boom, not a sizzle—more like a dog whistle, but made humans to hear.

Everybody flinched, some dropped.

Except me.

“Ah, this is bullshit, how come the only hero here with Superhearing isn’t affected by a sonic attack?” One of the twins complained.

“So… do you guys want to surrender, or should I break your legs?” I asked, offering them the chance to avoid unnecessary pain.

The Maulers gave each other a “what’s the point?” look, it seemed this sonic attack was their true secret weapon after all.

Left twin—maybe it was the right one, but at this point I didn’t think even they knew—raised his palms. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“We surrender,” the other said, extra loud for the Secret Service mics. “Just… don’t break our legs, last time you did it took us months to heal, you are not a gentle bone breaker.”

“I’m sensing growth here,” I said, “Good to see that both of you are learning from your mistakes. Progress is progress.”

Immortal dusted off and muttered, “Let’s get them into containment before they try to something stupid again.”

The twins groaned in stereo—one cracking his neck, the other stretching his shoulders—and walked ahead with their hands behind their heads, kind of like out-of-shape convicts in a prison exercise yard.

“I’m just saying, if you upgraded your skull density by five percent you wouldn’t be having this problem—”

“And if you’d added a basic reinforcing plate to the thoracic cavity—”

Do they ever stop arguing, like… ever?

“So, are you guys good here, or do you need help cleaning up?” I asked the Guardians.

Immortal clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We appreciate it.” He jerked his chin at the two blue idiots, now arguing about whether the ‘real’ SCHWARTZCHILD LIMIT was a government cover-up. “We’ll handle cleanup.”

Mark Grayson POV

I walked into the living room to find, Clark is sitting on the couch.

He’s got a slice of pizza in one hand, elbow on his knee, leaning forward like he actually needs to rest. Glasses slightly crooked. Hair a mess like always.

If you ignored the whole “can bench-press a mountain” thing, he just looks like… Clark.

My best friend.

Also, unfortunately—

“Man, this sucks.”

Clark glances over at me mid-bite. “That’s a strong opening statement. Wanna expand on that?”

I flop back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m serious. It’s been years.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

That’s usually how I know he’s actually listening.

“I mean—” I sit up again, gesturing vaguely. “You’ve had powers since you were, what, seven? Eight?”

“Six,” he says. “Eight for the flying. Nine for the really embarrassing crash phase.”

I snort. “You still have an embarrassing crash phase, I wish I had that.”

“That was one time with a bird and it came out of nowhere,” he mutters. “I maintain that was a coordinated attack.”

I grin for half a second—

Then it fades.

“Yeah, well… at least you’re out there doing something.”

Clark’s expression shifts just a little.

Subtle.

But I’ve known him long enough to catch it.

“I mean, come on,” I keep going. “My dad’s out there saving the world. You’re out there saving the world. The Guardians are out there saving the world.”

I gesture at myself.

“And I’m… here.”

Clark opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Tries again.

“Mark—”

“No, seriously,” I cut in, not angry—just… frustrated. “I thought I’d have something by now. Like anything. Super strength, flight, laser eyes—honestly I’d even take, like, double jumping at this point.”

Clark winces slightly at that.

“Careful what you wish for,” he says. “Learning to land is—”

“Easy for you to say,” I interrupt, sitting forward. “You’ve got the powers of a god, Clark.”

That one lands.

I can tell.

Not because he looks hurt—Clark doesn’t do that dramatic reaction thing.

He just… goes quiet.

Then he scratches the back of his neck, glancing down at the pizza in his hand like it suddenly got complicated.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I mean… I guess.”

That’s it.

No bragging. No denial.

Just… awkward acceptance.

From the kitchen, Mom’s voice cuts in.

“Mark, tone.”

I groan, dropping my head back again. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” she says, stepping into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. “And you know better.”

Clark immediately straightens a bit. “Hi, Ms. Grayson.”

“Clark,” she says, giving him a small smile that softens a second later when she looks at me. “Mark, Clark isn’t the problem here.”

“I didn’t say he was—”

“You implied it.”

I sit up again. “I’m just saying it’s not exactly fair.”

Clark shifts beside me, setting his pizza down on the plate.

“It’s not about fair,” he says. “It’s just… how it is.”

“Yeah, well, ‘how it is’ sucks,” I mutter.

There’s a brief silence.

Clark leans back, resting his hands on his knees, thinking.

He does that a lot.

More than people realize.

Then—

“Hey,” he says. “You might still get them.”

I look over at him.

He shrugs, a little lopsided.

“I mean it. You’re half Viltrumite, right? That’s gotta count for something. Maybe it just takes longer, you gotta let your body cook those genes.”

I huff. “Yeah, maybe.”

“And when it happens,” he continues, a little more animated now, “you’ll have your dad to train you.”

I glance toward the hallway without thinking.

“Yeah…”

Clark smiles slightly. “Mr. Grayson’s a really good teacher.”

He pauses.

“…If a bit ruthless.”

I let out a short laugh. “That sounds about right.”

“Seriously,” Clark adds. “You’ve seen how he moves. How he fights. If anyone can get you up to speed fast, it’s him.”

That part… yeah.

That part I can’t argue with.

I lean back again, staring at the ceiling.

“I just don’t wanna be the only one stuck on the ground, you know?”

Clark doesn’t answer right away.

When I look over, he’s watching me.

Not in a weird way.

Just… steady.

“I get that,” he says quietly.

And the thing is—

I think he actually does.

Which somehow makes it worse.

I scrub a hand down my face.

“When you told me you were Superboy…” I start, then trail off. In retrospect, I should’ve known he was Superboy since day one, all he did was take off his glasses and put on a shirt.

Clark winces. “In my defense, I thought the glasses were doing more work.”

“They weren’t,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that.”

I shake my head, a small smile slipping through despite everything.

“I was excited, okay? Like—my best friend is a superhero? That’s awesome.”

Clark smiles back, a little sheepish.

“But then,” I continue, “time kept going. And you kept getting stronger. And I kept… working in a burger joint, while you and dad saved the day, so… I got.”

The smile fades.

“Just a bit jealous,” I add quickly. “Not, like, a lot. Just… you know. Normal amount. Healthy amount.”

“Ah yes,” Clark nods solemnly. “Doctor-recommended jealousy.”

“Exactly.”

We sit there for a second.

Then he nudges my shoulder with his.

“Hey.”

I look over.

He grins.

“I bet you get them this year.”

I snort. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up straighter now, pointing at me like he’s making an official declaration. “I bet my first edition, autographed Seance Dog comic.”

My eyes widen.

“Wait—the one? The signed one?”

“The very same,” he says, nodding seriously. “Pristine condition. Bagged and boarded.”

I stare at him.

“You’re serious.”

“I am a man of conviction,” he says. “a man of steel some might say.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you get if you win?”

He pauses.

Thinks about it.

Then his gaze slowly shifts past me—

To my room.

And I immediately know what’s he thinking of.

“No,” I say immediately.

He points. “Yep.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mark, it’s a fair trade.”

“It is not a fair trade, that poster is vintage, its signed—”

“You’d be trading it for superpowers,” he says. “That’s a pretty good return on investment.”

“That’s not how bets work!”

“That’s exactly how bets work, Mark.”

I stare at him for a second.

Then—

“I hate you,” I say, shaking my head.

He shrugs.

“…But I’ll take that deal.”

Clark’s grin widens.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

From the kitchen, Mom sighs.

“You boys are unbelievable.”

I lean back into the couch again, exhaling slowly.

I glance over at Clark.

He’s already reaching for another slice of pizza/

“Hey, Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you do tomorrow’s homework?”

“Yes, and yes you can copy it, but please try to change some words… our teacher is old, but not senile,”

This is how our protagonist looks right now. The suit, body type, etc. He's 17.